Thirty Years From Now
by xxliveforever17xx
Summary: "You and Sam - you guys are solid, right?" Oliver and Andy have a very peculiar talk about love and marriage in the squad car. Prequel to 'It Would Be My Honor'.


_Hey everyone! So since I got loads of wonderful feedback for my Oliver/Andy fic "It Would Be My Honor", (thank you all so much!) I decided to write a prequel to that one-shot (much thanks to **aolande1** for prompting me to write this, even though its been long overdue), and this is what came of it. _

_As always, pretty please review, I truly love reading what you think of my stories.  
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><p>Andy McNally didn't think she had ever been happier to see Oliver Shaw than she was right now.<p>

(That time - or two, when he had appeared in the nick of time to save her from undoubtedly being shot, stabbed - oh yeah, and shot again - didn't count at the moment.)

After enduring possibly the longest night-shift ever, filled with robberies, domestics, and that particularly nasty sexual assault she had dealt with Chris, she should have spent the four hours between that shift and this one getting her more-than-much-needed sleep. Instead, she had spent it in a crazy, energy-consuming, mind-blowing, and ultimately blissful mini sex marathon with a very eager Sam who had been waiting up for her when she got home at three in the morning.

What had ever possessed her to sign up for two shifts in a row, she wasn't sure. What she was sure of though, was that she was never going to be possessed by it again.

Having slept through her alarm, she had been shaken awake by a now very agitated Sam (who apparently had also slept through it), informing her that they exactly five minutes to get dressed and out the door if they wanted to arrive semi-on time and keep their jobs.

No shower (meaning no wonderful, yummy-smelling soap to wake her up), no makeup (which wasn't that big of a deal), and no coffee (which was a big deal).

A very big deal. Coffee to her was what crack was to crack addicts. She had been joking around with Traci one day about how if coffee was suddenly a precious, rare commodity, she would sell her body and her soul in order to obtain it.

It was no longer a joke this morning. She really was ready to sell both her body and soul in order to get her much needed caffeine fix.

So in that moment, after stumbling out of parade only half-aware that she had been partnered with Oliver (but fully aware, and very annoyed that for the second time this week, she hadn't been paired with Sam), the harsh sun making her light-sensitive eyes hurt, she had made out her partner's figure, holding two cups of coffee.

One for him. And one for her.

"You are the most beautiful man to me right now, Shaw," she mumbled as she gratefully accepted the steaming liquid from his outstretched hand.

"Careful, McNally. I'm a happily married man, and you're a happily...whatever, woman. I don't think Sammy would appreciate you calling me beautiful."

She took a sip of coffee, scrunching her nose at his playful smile. "I meant beautiful on the inside."

"Now you're just digging yourself a hole. Stop talking and get in the car."

She scrambled to acquiesce to his order, quickly, and rather clumsily, sliding in the passenger seat, swearing under her breath as she spilled a couple drops of coffee on her vest.

"Don't worry, Kevlar doesn't stain. I once dropped an entire meatball sub, sauce and everything down my own and it didn't even leave a little stain."

The radio crackled with a disturbance call in their vicinity, and it took her a couple seconds to compute the request before radioing in their acceptance and location.

"Wake up McNally," he said, taking a hand off the steering wheel and snapping his fingers in front of her face. "Just because you and Sam had an all-night sex marathon doesn't mean you get a free pass to sleep all shift."

"I feel like I'm detecting some jealousy, mister married-man," she teased.

"Jealousy? Oh, my dear Andy, just because I'm married doesn't mean I don't get any. Zoe and I built the master bedroom to be soundproof for a reason."

"That mental picture is one that will never go away. Thanks for that."

He shot her a classic Shaw smile. "You're very welcome."

The disturbance call turned out to be nothing than an over-exuberant six year old "practicing" on his older brother's new drum set, and they spent the next twenty minutes cruising around arguing about whether Noelle and Frank were going to have a summer or winter wedding (regardless of the fact that they had yet to get engaged).

"Weddings, man. They put your teeth on edge and your nerves on fire, but in the end, they are just wonderful."

She looked at him as if he had just grown two heads. "Who are you, Rachel Zoe?"

"Rachel is not a wedding planner, she is a celebrity stylist."

"You're not helping your 'I-really-am-a-straight-married-man-with-children' cause."

"Zoe had a nasty case of the flu on my week off, and there happened to be a marathon on Bravo. Don't look at me like that, McNally, I'm your superior officer and have the authority to kick you out of this car."

"Yes, ma'am - sorry, yes _sir_." She laughed as a hand came off the steering wheel again and smacked her across the chest.

"Seriously though, marriage is amazing. Ball-and-chain, my ass. I wouldn't trade it for the world." He looked over at her and she stopped laughing at the peculiar expression on his face.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. People think being with the same person for the rest of your life is unnatural, but Zoe, you know, she's it for me. You have that one person, to love, to cherish, to protect, to share your whole life with, the good and the bad and the really bad and the superbly great."

"That sounds wonderful." And it did, she truly meant it. She wasn't entirely sure where this conversation was going, but also wasn't entirely sure she wanted it to stop.

"It is. It is wonderful. It's the most wonderful thing in the world."

"And when you fight?"

"Fighting is part of a relationship. I'd be concerned if we didn't fight. You and Sam fight all the time, and look how close you two are."

"Who says Sam and I fight all the time?"

"Sammy might pride himself on his ability to hide his emotions, but you're the one thing that can send him into a tizzy and unload his entire cylinder right in the heart of those poor paper targets."

"That's a horrible thing to say."

"No, what's horrible is when I see him the next day, all cheerful and completely happy and I know you two had make-up sex."

She laughed. "The make-up sex is pretty good."

They had pulled into the parking lot of Tim Horton's and she had been making to get out of the car when she realized he was still seated and buckled.

"McNally, you're like my daughter. Except not, because that would mean I'd have had to have had you when I was ten."

"You're not thirty-eight Oliver."

"I'm already regretting this."

"Sorry. Go ahead."

"You and Sam. You're solid, right?"

"Solid?"

"Ten years from now, where do you see the two of you?"

"Hopefully still cops."

"Be serious, McNally."

She was about to say another wisecrack when she saw the expression on his face, that same peculiar one. "Together. Still in Toronto. Still cops, still partners."

"Twenty years from now?"

"Same. Maybe not cops, but together."

"Thirty years?"

"Oliver, what is this about?" She watched him turn his head to look back out of the windshield, saw him clear his throat as she studied his profile.

"You better get me a triple shot. I tend to get introspective when I'm tired."

"I'm the one who's had back to back shifts. You should go in."

"I'm the senior officer here, remember?" He looked back at her again, and smiled that Shaw smile that she loved.

"Okay, _dad_," she teased, getting out of the car before he could hit her again, and laughed at his parting words.

"Still regretting that comment!"


End file.
